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Stories about Bears, edited by Andrew Lang

Baron de Wogan, a French gentleman, whose adventures
with snakes are also curious, was the hero of some encounters
with the grizzly bear of North America. First,
I would have you understand what sort of a creature
he had for an opponent. Imagine a monster measuring
when standing upright eight or nine feet, weighing 900
lbs., of a most terrifying appearance, in agility and
strength surpassing all other animals, and cruel in proportion.
Like his cousin the brown bear, whom he
resembles in shape, he is a hermit and lives alone in the
immense trackless forests which covered the Rocky Mountains,
and indeed (at least in olden times) the greater part
of North America. During the day he sleeps in the
depths of some mountain cavern, and wakes up at dusk to
go out in search of prey. All the beasts of the forest live
in terror of him—even the white bear flies before him.
He would go down to the valleys and attack the immense
herds of buffaloes which grazed there, and which were
powerless against him, in spite of their numbers and
their great horns. They join themselves closely together
and form one compact rank, but the grizzly bear hurls
himself at them, breaks their ranks, scatters them, and
then pursuing them till he catches them up, flings himself
on the back of one, hugs it in his iron embrace, breaks
its skull with his teeth, and so goes slaying right and left
before he eats one. Before the Baron’s first, so to say,
hand-to-hand encounter with a grizzly, he had been long
enough in the country to know something of their ways,
and how worse than useless a shot is unless in a fatal
spot.

After the return to her tribe of Calooa, a young Indian
girl, who had been his one human companion in many
days of wandering, the Baron was left with only his mule
Cadi for friend and companion, and naturally felt very
lonely. He set his heart on getting to the top of the
Rocky Mountains, at the foot of which he then happened
to be. Their glittering summits had so irresistible an
attraction for him, that he did not stay to consider the
difficulties which soon beset him at every step. No
sooner did he conquer one than another arose, added to
which the cold of these high regions was intense, and it
constantly snowed. After three days he had to declare
himself not only beaten, but so worn out that he must
take a week’s rest if he did not want to fall ill. First it
was necessary to have some sort of a shelter, and by
great good luck he found just at hand a cavern in the
rock, which, without being exactly a palace, seemed as if
it would answer his purpose.

Upon closer examination he found that it had more
drawbacks than he cared about. All round were scattered
gnawed bones of animals, and the prints of bear’s
claws on the ground left no doubt as to who the last inmate
had been. The Baron, however, preferred to risk an
invasion rather than seek another abode, and prepared
for probable inroads by making across the entrance to
the cave a barricade of branches of oak tied together
with flax, a quantity of which grew near. He then lit
a good fire inside the cave, but as the last tenant had
not considered a chimney necessary; the dense smoke soon
obliged him to beat a hasty retreat. Besides he had to
go out to get supplies for his larder, at present as bare as
Mother Hubbard’s. With his usual good luck the Baron
found, first, a large salmon flapping wildly in its effort to
get out of a pool, where the fallen river had left it. This
he killed, and next he shot a young deer about a mile
away and carried it to camp on his back. In order to
preserve these eatables he salted some of them with salt
that he had previously found in a lake near, and had
carefully preserved for future use. He then dug a hole in
a corner of the cave, putting a thick layer of dry hay at
the bottom, and buried his provisions Indian fashion, in
order to preserve them.

As it was still only twelve o’clock, the Baron thought
he would spend the rest of the day in exploring the
neighbourhood; first he examined the cave, which he
found to be formed of big blocks of rock firmly joined
together; above the cave rose the cliff, and in front
of it grew a fir-tree, which served at the same time to
defend the entrance, and as a ladder to enable him to
mount the cliff. As he could not take Cadi with him, he
fastened him to the fir-tree by his halter and girth joined
together, so as to leave him plenty of room to graze.
Then he put some eatables in his game bag, and set off
on a tour of discovery. When he had walked about three
hours, and had reached a rocky point from which he
had a fine view of the surrounding country, he sat
down to rest under an oak-tree. He knew nothing more
till the cold awoke him—it was now six o’clock, and
he had slept three hours. He started with all the haste
he could to get back to his cave and Cadi before dark,
but so tired and footsore was he that he was obliged to
give in and camp where he was, for night was coming on
fast. It was bitterly cold and snow fell constantly, so he
lit a large fire, which at the same time warmed him,
and kept away the bears whom he heard wandering round
the camp most of the night. As soon as the sun was up
in the morning, he set off with all his speed to see what had
become of Cadi; but though fifteen miles is not much to
bears balked of their prey, it is much to a weary and footsore
man, and when he had hobbled to within half a mile
of the camp, he saw that it was too late: the bears, whom
he had driven away from his camp in the night with
fire-brands, had scented poor Cadi, and four of them were now
devouring him—father, mother, and two cubs. Imagine
his rage and grief at seeing his only friend and companion
devoured piecemeal before his very eyes!

His first impulse was to fire, but he reflected in time
that they were four to one, and that, instead of avenging
Cadi, he would only share his fate. He decided to wait on
a high rock till the meal was ended. It lasted an hour,
and then he saw the whole family set off to climb the mountain,
from the top of which he had been watching them.
They seemed to be making straight for him, and as it would
be certain death to sit and wait for them, he slipped into a
cranny in the rock, hoping that he might not be perceived;
even if he was, he could only be attacked by one at a time.
He had not long to wait: soon all four bears passed in
single file, without smelling him or being aware of him;
for this he had to thank poor Cadi: their horrid snouts
and jaws being smeared with his blood prevented their
scenting fresh prey.

When he had seen them at a safe distance, he ventured
to go down to the cave he could no longer call his own.
Of Cadi, nothing remained but his head, still fastened to
the tree by his halter. The barricade was gone, too, and
from the cave came low but unmistakable growls. With
one bound the Baron was up the tree, and from the tree
on to the cliff. From there he threw stones down before
the entrance to the cave, to induce the present inmate to
come out, in order that he might take possession again.
The bear soon came out, and, perceiving him, made for the
fir-tree. By its slow and languid movements the Baron
saw that it was curiosity more than anger that prompted it,
and, moreover, it was evidently a very old bear, probably
a grandfather, whose children and grandchildren had been
to pay it a visit. Curiosity or not, the Baron had no wish
to make a closer acquaintance, and fired a shot at the brute
by way of a hint to that effect. This immediately turned
his curiosity into wrath. Seizing the fir-tree, which he was
going to use as a ladder, he began to climb up. A second
shot hit him in the shoulder. He fell mortally wounded, but
even after a third shot, which took him in the flank, his
dying struggles lasted twenty minutes, during which he tore
at the roots of the fir-trees with his terrific claws. The
Baron did not care to waste any of his bullets, now getting
scarce, in putting out of his pain one of Cadi’s murderers.
When finally the bear was dead, the Baron came down to
take possession of his cave, and at the same time of the
bear’s skin. On penetrating into the cave, he found that
the rascal had paid him out in his own coin, and, in revenge
for the Baron taking his cave, had eaten his provisions.
The Baron was quits in the end, however, as the bear’s
carcase furnished him meat enough for several days. The
Baron cut off pounds of steak, which he salted and dried
over the fire. The useless remains he threw over the
nearest precipice, so that they should not attract wild
beasts, to keep him awake all night with their cries.
Then, having made a huge fire in front of the entrance,
which, moreover, he barricaded with branches, he threw
himself on his bed of dry leaves to sleep the sleep of
exhaustion.

Some time passed before the Baron’s next encounter
with a bear. He was camping one night in a dense forest,
sleeping, as usual, with one eye and one ear open, and
his weapon at hand, all ready loaded. His rest was broken
by the usual nightly sounds of the forest, of leaves
crunched and branches broken, showing that many of the
inmates of the woods were astir; but he did not let these
usual sounds disturb him, till he heard in the distance
the hoarse and unmistakable cry of the bear; then he
thought it time to change the shot in his gun for something
more worthy of such a foe. This preparation made, he
set off at dawn on his day’s march, which up to midday
led him along the bank of a large river. He thought no
more of the blood-curdling howls of the night, till suddenly
he heard from a distance terror-stricken cries. He put
his ear to the ground, Indian fashion, to listen better, and
as the danger, whatever it was, seemed to be coming
nearer, he jumped into a thicket of wild cherry and willow
trees, and waited there in ambush, gun in hand. In a few
minutes, a band of Indians with their squaws appeared
on the opposite bank of the river, and straightway leaped
into the water, like so many frogs jumping into an undisturbed
swamp. At first he thought he was being attacked,
but soon saw it was the Indians who were being pursued,
and that they all, men and women, were swimming for
dear life; moreover, the women were laden with their
children, one, and sometimes two, being strapped to their
backs in a sort of cradle of birch bark. This additional
weight made them swim slower than the men, who soon
reached the opposite shore, and then took to their heels
helter-skelter, except three, who remained behind to encourage
the women.

The Baron at first thought it was an attack of other
Indians, and that it would be prudent to beat a retreat,
when suddenly the same terrible cry that had kept him
awake in the latter part of the night resounded through
the forest, and at the same time there appeared on a
high bank on the other shore a huge mass of a dirty
grey colour, which hurled itself downhill, plunged into
the river, and began to swim across at a terrific speed.
It was a grizzly bear of tremendous size. So fast did it
swim, that in no time it had nearly caught up with the
last of the squaws, a young woman with twin babies at
her back, whose cries, often interrupted by the water
getting into their mouths, would have melted the heart of
a stone. The three Indians who had remained on the
bank did their utmost to stop the bear by shooting their
poisoned arrows at it; but the distance was too great, and
the huge animal came on so fast that in another minute
mother and children would be lost. The Baron could not
remain a spectator of so terrible a scene. He came out
of the thicket where he was hidden, and frightened the
Indians almost as much as if he had been another bear.
Resting his gun on the trunk of a tree, he fired at the
distance of 125 yards, and hit the animal right on the
head. It dived several times, and the water all round
was dyed red with blood; but the wound was not mortal,
and it continued on its way, only more slowly. After
urging the Indian, who seemed to be the unhappy woman’s
husband, to go into the water to help her—for, through
terror and fatigue, she could no longer swim—the Baron
took deliberate aim again and fired. The second shot,
like the first, hit the bear on the head, but again without
killing it. It stopped the brute, however, long enough to
let the poor woman get to shore, where she fainted, and
was carried away by the men to the forest, leaving the
Baron and the bear to fight out their duel alone. The
Baron had barely time to reload and climb to the top of
one of the trees, when the bear was already at the foot
of it. So near was he when he stood upright, that the
Baron could feel his horrid breath. Up to then the
Baron thought that all bears could climb like squirrels;
fortunately for him he was mistaken. Expecting to be
taken by storm, he fired straight in the creature’s face.
The two balls took a different course: one went through
the jaw and came out by the neck, the other went into
the chest. The bear uttered a terrific roar, stiffened
itself in a last effort to reach him, and fell heavily on its
back at the foot of the tree. The Baron might have thought
him dead had he not already seen such wonderful resurrections
on the part of bears; but the four shots, though at
first they dazed and troubled the beast, seemed afterwards
to act as spurs, and he rose furious and returned to the
charge. The Baron tried to use his revolver, but, finding
it impossible, he drew out his axe from his belt, and dealt
a violent blow at the bear’s head, which nearly split it in
two, and sent the blood splashing in all directions. The
bear again fell to the ground, this time to rise no more.
The Baron being now convinced that the grizzly bear is
no tree-climber, took his time to draw out his revolver, to
take aim and fire. The shot put out one of the bear’s
eyes, the axe had already taken out the other. This
finished him, but his death struggles lasted twenty minutes,
during which the tree was nearly uprooted. When
all was at an end the Baron came down; he cut off the
formidable claws, and broke off the teeth with an axe to
make a trophy in imitation of the Indians, and then proceeded
to skin him and cut him up. The Indians, who
had been watching the combat at a safe distance, now
came back, enthusiastic. They surrounded them, the
victor and the vanquished, and danced a war-dance, singing
impromptu words. The Baron, seated on the bear’s
carcase, joined in the chorus; but the Indians, not content
with that, insisted on his joining in the dance as well.
The rejoicing over, the Baron divided among the twenty
Indians the flesh of the bear—about 15 lb. or 20 lb. fell
to each. The skin he kept to himself, and the claws, of
which the Indians made him a warrior’s necklace, hanging
it round his neck like an order of knighthood.[3]

[3]
The young reader must no longer expect such adventures as the
Baron de Wogan achieved.